


Spinning

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ballet, Ballet AU, F/M, M/M, eating disorder-like behavior, gratuitous Shakespeare references, needs more shakespeare, shakespeare metaphors, tiny pinch of sort of frostiron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is the male lead in a highly anticipated ballet production. His career is not the only thing relying on this performance to be flawless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know much about ballet, and I have no idea if there is a ballet production of Hamlet anywhere (there is of Romeo & Juliet though.) I've taken a LOT of liberties with the story of Hamlet, and with ballet in general. I really just wanted to write a ballet au. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy it!

The new arrival rushes into the studio, sits down opposite Loki, and starts pulling on her pointe shoes before anyone even has a chance to ask what she’s doing here. New arrivals are rare; there are so many good dancers and so little demand for them, especially in New York City. Competition is fierce and, naturally, Loki is curious about who this woman is. 

He’s known as one of the best dancers in the country, and he wants to be one of the best in the world. It’s the only way to prove that he hasn’t made a mistake choosing this career. Many dancers try and fail to make it. Loki has always tried not to be one of them. 

The woman is small of stature, with a lithe frame. She’s short, but pointe shoes will fix that, and her brown hair is tied up into a tight bun. She has pale skin and delicate features, but Loki knows that if she’s gotten this far she is far from delicate. 

He continues to watch her until footsteps drag his attention away, and he finds himself looking up at Natasha Romanov, the head choreographer for the company. She says, “Loki, I have someone you need to meet.” 

Loki stands up and Natasha leads him over to the woman. “As the male lead for our most publicized piece of the season,” she says, “I would like you to meet our female lead. I’ve brought her in from a company out west, and she’s brilliant. This is Jane Foster,” and Jane stands up and takes Loki’s hand in her own, “and Jane, this is Loki Laufeyson.” 

Loki inclines his head towards her and she offers him a small smile.

“This is the most important piece of the season,” Natasha continues. “A lot is riding on you both, and this is a major step in both of your careers.” She glances at each of them. “Don’t screw it up. We start in ten.” 

She walks away, towards the pianist sitting at the opposite corner of the studio. Jane sits down and resumes lacing up her shoes, and Loki sits next to her, curious. Jane offers him a smile—she seems cheerful, which is rare among the company members—and says, “I’ve heard she’s tough.” 

“She is,” Loki agrees, “but one has to be. She only takes the best, and she knows how to cut out those who don’t belong.” It’s partially a threat, but Jane doesn’t take it that way. 

“I like a challenge,” she says, grinning. “I’ve heard of you, by the way. Making waves in the New York scene.” 

Loki raises an eyebrow. He shouldn’t be surprised—he knows he’s done well for himself—but he always has that moment of shock when someone else recognizes his work. “You could say that.” 

Jane finishes lacing her shoes and stands up. She tests her weight on the tips and Loki stretches his legs idly. Jane spins around on her toes, all precision and tight movement. Natasha is making her way over to them when Loki stands up to full height. 

Natasha stops in front of them and says, “I’m assuming you’ve both done a little research, and you know the story. A lot of people do—Shakespeare’s pretty famous, so I’ve heard.” She smirks. 

Loki read Hamlet in high school, and it had been his favorite play. He always was fascinated by the character of Hamlet—was he mad, was he a clever manipulator, or was he driven mad by the ghost of his father and the need to avenge his death? There were many different ways to read the play, and he had explored them all. Had he not been involved in ballet, he would have studied literature extensively. But that was a possibility now closed to him. 

“You both undergo a slow spiral into madness,” Natasha tells them. “This is a story about revenge, about the mind, about family, but you two are the leads and at the heart of your performances together, you must bring all of that background to play in a story about love gone horribly wrong. When you two dance together, I want to see everything, every facet of your characters. Make me see the tragedy.” 

Jane nods, and Loki regards Natasha thoughtfully. Natasha continues, “This is unique among productions. Joffrey is doing a production of Romeo and Juliet. In terms of dance, Hamlet is off the beaten path. But I think it’s the more interesting story, and we’re going to tell it like it’s never been told before. The audience should leave feeling like they’ve been stabbed in the heart, over and over. And as the principal dancers, it is up to you to convey that. Anything less is unacceptable, got it?” They nod. “Your careers are on the line. Let’s begin.” 

Their characters, Hamlet and Ophelia, have several pas de deux throughout the show, which requires Loki and Jane to spend a lot of time rehearsing together. The ballet version of Hamlet emphasizes the love story between Ophelia and Hamlet much more than the play. The only other times Loki finds himself on stage with a single other dancer is with the older woman playing Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother, and with the male dancer playing Laertes, whom he duels at the end. Therefore, he and Jane have the most important relationship to build. 

Jane is a good dancer, and she seems to inhabit her characters. Loki can take on the personality of someone else as well, a wonderful quality for a dancer to have, but he spends more time agonizing over the execution of his movements. One mistake, and his career could be over. If he succeeds, he will be known as one of the best dancers in the world. The choreography is new, and difficult. Loki’s seen the buzz on the internet about Natasha Romanov’s new production. Sometimes he wishes he hadn’t. 

Jane is almost flawless in her movements as well, which is a blessing and a curse. She won’t screw up the production, but if Loki is anything less than perfect, she will outshine him. And he wants them to be at least on equal footing. 

The first rehearsal is grueling and Loki aches all over by the time he exits the building, bound for his apartment. The air is cold, biting and unforgiving—a traditional New York City winter. He shivers and heads for the nearest subway stop. It’s warmer underground. 

He’ll have to do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. It’s dizzying. 

On the platform, a train rushes past. Not his, but he stands close to the edge. The train stops, lets out a few passengers, lets in a few more. Doors close, and the train starts moving. Loki watches as silver metal streaks by, seemingly endless until suddenly it vanishes, and the sensation of something suddenly gone is so much that Loki sways dangerously and takes a step back. 

One of the other passengers is eying him warily. Loki folds his arms over his chest and stares straight ahead at the off-white wall. 

**

Dancing was a way to make the chaos of movement look like control, to completely lose himself in something and forget, for a moment, the pressures of life. At first. As with all pure things, dance eventually became corrupted until it was less often an escape and more often a vehicle for stress and anger and self-hatred. 

When Loki’s family lived in London, Loki and Thor took to different activities. Loki’s mother, Frigga, insisted that he do whatever he felt he wanted to do. Odin had taken her and Thor and Loki to a ballet production of Swan Lake on Frigga’s birthday. Loki had been enchanted by the dancers, their precise movements and the way they could manipulate their bodies into emotions, into language. He wanted to do that. 

Odin had been disappointed. Ballet would help him with nothing. It was a women’s activity, a silly dream. He would never succeed. He should practice football (soccer, when they moved to New York) like Thor. He should worry more about his grades and get into a top school. He should go into business. He should be more like Thor. He shouldn’t be different. 

Loki wanted to prove Odin wrong. 

Ballet became a challenge. Odin would only be satisfied if he was the best. And Loki needed to be the best, or else he would be nothing in his father’s eyes. 

There were many days where he felt like nothing and no one. 

**

Loki picks at his oatmeal and puts a spoonful in his mouth, grimacing at how heavy and warm it feels on his tongue. He has to force himself to eat, and he rarely enjoys it. But he needs some form of energy to dance, and this is a necessity, as long as he doesn’t eat too much. The meal feels like lead in his stomach, but the feeling dissipates by the time he arrives at the studio.

Today he’s learning the choreography with the dancer playing Gertrude, an older ballerina named Maria Hill. Hill’s choreography is gentle and almost comforting, and Loki can’t help but remember his mother. But Gertrude has bedded the man who has murdered his father, and Loki as Hamlet cannot afford to be kind to her. He can’t afford to let anyone in, not now. 

The dance escalates as Hill tries to calm Loki’s frenetic movements. Loki feels more at home here, in these last acts of the production, where he moves from simulating chaos to becoming chaos. 

The rehearsal then moves on to his confrontation with Laertes, played by a dancer named Tony Stark. Stark is high maintenance, well-known, and born from a lot of money. Had he been in any other company, Loki would have suspected he bought his way in. But with Natasha, he knows that Tony actually has talent, even if he still acts like an entitled bastard. 

“Anyone ever tell you that you need to relax?” Stark asks halfway through their rehearsal, when Loki’s killed him about six times. 

Loki takes a pull of water—Natasha has allowed them a brief rest—and ignores him. 

“You’re stiffer than my dick during-“

“Stark,” Natasha snaps from a few feet away. “Don’t.” 

Stark looks a bit mollified. He takes a sip of water and nearly spills some on himself. 

“Why must you be crude?” Loki asks. 

“Can’t help it, born that way,” Stark says. “Besides, we’re in New York. You’re telling me I’m the only crude person you’ve come across?” 

“That I’ve worked with,” Loki says. 

Stark rolls his eyes, then leans closer to him and murmurs, “You should see Natasha drunk. She has quite the mouth on her.” 

“No thanks,” Loki says. 

Stark pouts. “No fun.” 

“Break’s over,” Natasha says, gesturing for them to take the floor. “Get it right this time.”

Loki follows Stark to the center of the room. 

**

The days pass in a blur. Loki dances, and dances, and dances until he feels he might break. While getting dressed one morning he pauses, shirt pooled around his neck and shoulders, and notices his ribs sticking out a bit too far. A few bruises mark his skin from where certain movements were made too rough, or went wrong. He lets the shirt fall over his chest, obscuring the sight. 

Nothing is wrong. Nothing can be wrong. 

Jane Foster is beautiful, graceful even in the madness of the dance. If he were not careful he could get lost in her story, taken up and swept away by her movements. He watches her sometimes, when she is not dancing with him. She is enchanting and she pulls him in. 

At night he sleeps badly, plague by strange dreams. Dreams of failure—he falls onstage, he drops Jane, he becomes off-balance and stumbles, and he can see his father each time, disappointed. Why can’t you be like your brother? his eyes seem to ask. 

Loki only pushes harder. 

**

Jane comes in giggling on the phone and her moves are looser than they have been in weeks, her happiness carrying into even the tragic parts of the performance, so at one point Natasha has to stop them. 

“What’s going on?” she asks Jane, face dangerously blank. “This isn’t a love story with a happy ending. Hamlet’s toeing the line of abusing you and you’re dancing like he’s just gotten down on one knee and proposed.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jane says, blushing. “I’ve just been…dating. And last night it went particularly well.” 

Loki feels a pang of jealousy. It has been so long since he’s had a relationship like that. Now when he goes home it’s to an empty apartment and a cold bed. And Jane has someone who can make her happy, who can take the edge off the pressure that this production is putting on them. Loki can share the weight with no one. 

“When you’re in this room, forget that you’ve ever had a good, healthy relationship in your life,” Natasha says. “That’s useless to me. I don’t care how good your love life is outside the studio. In here you don’t have one.” 

Jane nods, good mood gone. “Yes.” 

Natasha gives her a sharp nod and steps back. “Again.” 

**

Jane follows Loki out of the studio at the end of the day. “Come out with me,” she says. “You look like you need a break.”

“What makes you think that?” Loki asks. 

“All you do is dance,” Jane says. “I never hear you talk about plans, or anything. It’s like you’re locked on this show.” 

“It’s my career,” Loki points out. 

“Mine too,” Jane says, “but I can’t let it consume everything. Come on. One drink.” 

Loki pauses in front of the subway stop. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Friday,” Jane says, and then she’s gone, lost to the city’s permanent crowd of people. 

**

Friday comes and Loki wants nothing more than to slip under the covers of his bed for a few hours and forget. But Jane drags him by the arm to a cab as soon as they leave, and he ends up sitting between her and Tony Stark. 

“I never agreed to this,” he says. 

“This isn’t about agreement,” Stark says as the cab starts its journey. “This is about what you need.” 

“Don’t presume to know what I need,” Loki snarls, and suddenly the cab feels too tight, and he would do anything to be out in the cold air, to be able to breathe. 

“Calm down,” Tony says. 

Jane’s small hand touches his shoulder, feather-soft. “Loki, it’ll be fun.” He looks at her, and she looks so honest. Like she believes nothing else. “Trust me.” 

He can’t trust her. She is trying to ruin him. She is the competition. His throat feels tight, but he nods anyway, because he has no escape, nowhere to go. He swallows against the panic and concentrates on the road ahead, full of red and yellow lights, of cars constantly breaking for pedestrians in a road lined by lit buildings that stretch towards the sky. It is overwhelming, but it is a vast space, and Loki can imagine he is out there and not in here. 

The cab pulls up to a bar and Stark drags Loki inside and orders a round of drinks for them all—shots of whiskey, which burn on the way down. Jane sputters and chokes and after a few moments Loki sways on his stool. He remembers that he’s forgotten to eat breakfast. He hasn’t eaten all day. He should stop drinking but Stark orders another round of something else, something that tastes strong. 

But it’s warmer, like this, and his bones no longer feel like constantly breaking, and he can’t really understand what Jane and Stark are talking about but he laughs anyway and it feels good. This is the first time he’s laughed in ages. 

Stark talks about his time in school and how he tried to choreograph a hip-hop dance once and thought it was the best thing ever, when in reality everyone thought it was awful. Stark is a passable storyteller at best but now he has Loki and Jane in tears. 

The night could go on forever. 

Except someone’s arms snake around Jane and for a second Loki thinks that she’s being stolen away by someone with ill will, but then Stark says, “So this is your man candy?” and Jane smiles and nods and kisses the hand that’s resting near her shoulder. 

Loki has but seconds to relax again when the man behind Jane moves to her side, and into view of Loki. A familiar man, with blond hair and bright blue eyes, a large man, well-muscled, not at all subtle. Larger than life. 

Thor. 

Thor and Loki stare at each other, and then Thor cries, “Brother!” and lunges forward to envelope Loki into a hug. 

Loki staggers back and falls into Stark, who catches him. “Sorry,” he chokes, and he twists away from Stark before the other man can say anything, and Thor looks heartbroken and Stark’s asking “What’s wrong?” and Jane looks terribly concerned. 

“Loki,” Thor says, “I am glad to see you’ve become more sociable. Would you be willing to share a drink with me?” He looks hopeful, like he hopes Loki’s forgotten the reason why they don’t talk in the first place. 

“I’m missing something,” Stark says. 

“You’re dating my brother,” Loki says to Jane. 

Jane looks surprised. Stark orders another round of drinks. Thor asks, “How do you two know each other?” 

“We work together,” Jane tells him. “He’s the male lead in the new production of Hamlet that I’ve been telling you about.” 

“You never told me who your partner was,” Thor says. 

“I didn’t know it was important,” Jane says. “You don’t know who’s who in ballet anyway.” She laughs, a little nervously. 

Stark shoves a drink at Loki, who downs it in one gulp and slams the glass back on the bar. “I’m sorry,” Loki manages, “but I should be going now.” 

He pushes past Thor, through tightly-knit groups of people and out the front door. The cold air hits him like a wall and he takes a deep breath. The lights of the city are overwhelming and they spin, even though he’s standing still, and he sways dangerously. Strong hands grip him from behind, steadying him, and for a moment he fears that it’s Thor and he stumbles backwards, towards the street, but the man in front of him catches him again. 

It’s Stark. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Family issues,” Loki breathes. 

“Yeah, I know about those,” Stark says, and he looks like he does, looks sincere, and he’s helped. He’s given Loki the liquid that allows him to forget himself but it’s not enough. He needs to forget more. He needs to forget that the woman he’s been dancing with, the woman with whom he’s expected to bare his soul onstage, is dating his brother, is getting to know his brother intimately and has never considered Loki because Loki is not good enough and Loki never really wanted her, not like that, but it still stings, this rejection, because he knows Jane never wanted him either, and no one ever did, not when given Thor as an alternative. 

He lunges forward and his lips find Stark’s lips, and he pushes Stark against the wall, and when he pulls away he wants more because he can forget himself in Stark’s body, can pretend that Stark actually wants him over Thor, that anyone could want him over Thor, that he’s good enough. 

Stark pushes him back, gasping. “Loki, you’re drunk,” he says. 

“I don’t care,” Loki says. “Stark—please. I need this.” 

“Are you-“

“Sure,” Loki cuts him off. “I’m sure.” And he pulls Stark into a deep kiss. 

Later, he wakes up nauseous and stumbles into an unfamiliar bathroom to vomit the remains of alcohol and bile, and he’s naked, and when he walks back into the bedroom it isn’t his. It’s Stark’s, and Stark is in the bed, also naked, sprawled out and asleep. 

Loki gathers his things and staggers home in the rising sun. 

**

“Loki, sit down. We need to discuss a matter of importance.” 

These are the words that changed his life. 

Odin gathered the family at the kitchen table. Loki had just gotten accepted into a small ballet company in New York City and was moving out. Thor had started a successful business already and was practically rich, but now was Loki’s chance. Now he could rise to Thor’s level of greatness. 

Frigga sat next to Loki and placed her hand on top of his. This was strange, and Loki braced himself. 

“We meant to tell you when you both were younger,” Odin said, “but it is hard for a parent to admit that a child is anything but their own.” 

Loki swallowed. “What do you mean?” 

“We love you as much as we love Thor,” Odin said. “Your history, however, is different. We adopted you from an orphanage in the city when you were a baby.” A pause. “This changes nothing. You have always been part of this family. We simply wished to be honest with you. We don’t want to keep anything from you.” 

“Why?” Loki asked. 

“I could no longer have children,” Frigga told him, squeezing his hand, “but we wanted another child.” 

“I’m not yours,” Loki said. 

“You are mine,” Frigga insisted. “You are always mine.” 

And Loki felt relief. This is why he’d always been different. 

The relief was followed by a crushing sadness, and then anger. 

He took the anger out on Thor, later, and then on Odin. 

And finally, when he’d moved, he took the anger out on himself. 

**

The next morning is full of strange silences. Natasha notices that her dancers are not in top condition. Loki falls off-balance during practice with Jane. He ends up several beats behind Stark. His head pounds and he can get nothing right. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when he falls behind Stark for the third time. Natasha pulls them aside. 

“Loki, what’s going on?” 

“Off day,” Loki mutters. 

“Well make it an on day,” Natasha says. “We only have two weeks left, and we can’t afford these mistakes this late in the game. Take five minutes.” 

Stark joins him and says, “Look, about last night? I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to mean anything-“

“It doesn’t,” Loki says. 

Stark nods, a little too sharp. “Right. Got it.” 

Loki glances at him. “Did you want it to?” 

“I enjoyed it,” Stark admits. 

“We are about to star in one of the most renowned ballet productions in the world,” Loki tells him. “We cannot afford to worry about relationships at a time like this.” 

Stark regards him with a frown. “This means a lot to you.” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it because of Thor?” 

Loki glares at him. 

“Sorry,” Stark says. “I know what it’s like, to want to impress someone so badly that you’ll do anything. But don’t let it be everything. You have to have a life outside of this. What’re you trying to prove?” 

“That I’m good enough,” Loki snaps. Stark doesn’t respond, but something dark crosses his face. Then Natasha calls them back to rehearsal. 

**

The next week is a series of mistakes. 

A fall here. A forgotten step there. A movement out of sync. A lapse in counting beat. Natasha is frustrated, and Loki can feel the disappointment radiating off her and Jane in spades. Jane is still perfect, always perfect. He takes to practicing at home, forgoing sleep and sustenance because if he goes for another few minutes, another hour, he can get the movements down. He can do better. He must do better. 

His mother calls and he ignores it. Thor texts him and he doesn’t answer. One week left, and he isn’t good enough, and his career will be over. 

One week left, and he comes home to his apartment already open and his mother sitting in the kitchen. 

She stands upon seeing him and rushes over, drawing him into a hug. Loki falls into the embrace. It’s been so long. His throat burns. 

When she pulls away there are tears in her eyes. She palms his face, her hand soft and warm and like the only home Loki has ever had. “You look so exhausted,” she whispers. “Do you not rest? Are you well?” 

“My show,” Loki manages, “is next week. I must prepare. My career is on the line. If this goes well, I will be one of the greatest dancers currently working in the industry.”

“Is that what you want?” Frigga asks. “You look like you need a break, not more work.” 

“I want nothing more.” 

“Your father and brother worry. Thor saw you the other night and said you were-” 

“I know.” Loki steps back, away. “You should come. To the show. You all should.” 

Frigga gives him a small smile. “Promise me you’ll relax after this is done. Promise me you’ll take some time to yourself.” 

Loki nods. She steps forward and kisses his cheek. 

Too soon, she is gone. 

And the apartment is dark and empty once more. 

**

Loki cannot look at Jane without seeing Thor and it sickens him. When he dances, he pushes her away, he is more aggressive, more distrustful. 

Natasha relishes the change. “THIS is what we’ve been missing,” she says. “I can feel how the loss of trust is fueling your anger towards her. Keep it up.” 

And he does. Because the ghost of Thor is ever present, and Loki can do nothing to make it go away. 

But gone are the mistakes. He attacks his part with renewed vigor, and if he comes home exhausted and near the point of collapse, if he barely eats and if his sleep is restless, full of movements and music and everything that Loki can do wrong, he doesn’t care. This is what he needs. 

He barely speaks, not to Jane, not to Stark, not to Natasha. He dances, and the dance is his language, a language only he knows he is speaking. Everyone else assumes he is acting as his character. 

This is not true. 

Dancing is the only language Loki can speak now. 

He hopes it will be the language Odin understands. 

**

Loki is Hamlet. 

Loki is Hamlet and Loki is dance and movement and he loves Ophelia until she breaks his trust and then he can’t stand to see her because she represents the side of the man who murdered his father and is destroying his family. Loki is clever planning devolved into madness and mayhem. Loki sees ghosts in the shadows and murderers center-stage and he becomes one himself, and he never stops moving, cannot stop, because when he stops he’s dead, bathed in golden light, surrounded by the bodies he’s placed around him. 

Loki is fallen and when he looks into the faces of the audience he can see his father there, not dead but terribly alive, and he searches his face for pride or love or awe or something. 

He sees nothing. 

Nothing is worse than disappointment. 

He closes his eyes and sinks into the darkness as the applause echoes in his head. 

**

Not good enough. 

Loki runs. He runs through the streets, not caring if he gets hit by a car, but he is not lucky enough. He runs through the cold, lungs and throat burning. He runs into his apartment and doesn’t turn on the lights, and falls to his knees in front of his bed, shaking and sobbing. 

His phone rings. He doesn’t answer, can’t even look. He would not be able to speak. He cannot speak. His language is dance and his movements are lost on those he needed to listen the most. 

He will go back. He will dance until he has given all of himself to the stage, until there is nothing left. And then, when there is nothing, he can rest.

But not before. 

He needs to become nothing, before the world makes him into nothing. He needs to make himself nothing because making himself nothing is better than the look on his father’s face before the curtain fell, better than letting that look undo him. 

He can undo himself. 

**

The world spins, nothing but color and light and sound all blending into one another, too fast too much for the senses to take in, and so they just let go. Keeps spinning, and it should be unnatural but isn’t. This, where every sense blends into organized chaos, is home. Nothing can happen here, nothing is concrete, not when everything is swirling and speeding past and blurring together, there and gone in seconds. Faster and faster and not stopping and never wanting to stop but the world starts to come into focus, slowing, slowing until the light is too bright, the area beyond the stage too dark, and the applause of the audience like thunder. Everything stops. 

That’s when everything falls apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so mean to Loki all the time. *hides*


End file.
